Morning came faster than I wanted.
I barely had time to sleep, my mind just kept replaying the last two weeks I had spent in this world. I still couldn't believe any of it was real, but the excitement kept me moving.
I tried to shake off the doubts, but they clung to me even as I buttoned my shirt.
I stood in front of the mirror. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Sharp jaw. A face that wasn't mine, but I had to live with it. This was Arthur's body, Arthur's life, Arthur's uniform.
Being a butler wasn't the issue, It was being her butler that gave me worry.
But that didn't matter now.
It was morning.
And she wanted her coffee.
I made it the way she liked.
Bitter.
No sugar.
Nothing to soften the taste.
The same way she liked her men, apparently. I tried not to think about that part too much.
Once the cup was ready, I took a breath and headed down the hall.
The palace was always quiet in the morning, almost peaceful if you ignored the pressure that came with walking toward her room.
By the time I reached her door, I told myself to relax, but it never helped.
I knocked softly.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
So I opened the door, slow, careful, hoping not to startle her.
Inside, the room was dim. The curtains were pulled slightly shut, letting in only a thin line of pale morning light. The air smelled like lavender and warm sheets, and for a moment I thought she might still be asleep.
Then I saw her.
She was lying on her bed, blanket pulled up to her neck, only her face visible. Her red hair spilled across the pillow, messy in a way that made her look younger.
I took two steps in and bowed my head.
"Your morning coffee, Your Majesty."
Her eyes opened slowly.
She didn't sit up.
She didn't even adjust her blanket.
She just watched me with half lidded eyes, like she wasn't sure if she was awake yet.
I set the cup on the small table beside her long couch.
I tried not to make a sound.
I just wanted to put it down and get out before anything weird happened again.
As soon as the cup touched the table, I stepped back, making it to the door, my hands touching the knob.
"Stay."
Her voice wasn't loud.
But I froze.
Every instinct told me to pretend I didn't hear her, open the door, and leave. But refusing a queen was the fastest way to die in a medieval kingdom.
So I let go of the knob.
I turned around slowly.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She didn't move. The blanket still covered her body, only her face showing, but her eyes stayed locked on me.
"Why are you standing so far?" she asked.
"You asked me to stay. I assumed you meant… here."
"Come inside the room properly. Stand near the door if you wish, but face me."
I stepped in.
Stood straight.
Hands behind my back.
My whole body felt tight. I didn't want to be alone with her, not lying in bed like this, not after everything. But there was nothing I could do.
She let out a quiet breath.
"Arthur," she said, "I want your opinion on something."
"My… opinion?"
"Yes." She shifted slightly, still under the blanket. "It concerns my daughter."
I blinked. That wasn't what I expected.
"Princess Isolde," she continued. "She is… facing something difficult. And I find myself unsure how to guide her."
She looked away, toward the window.
"She is to marry the crown prince of Valoria."
Valoria.
Good name for a kingdom.
Strong.
Influential.
Powerful.
The type of kingdom that could wipe Luminaris off the map if it wanted.
"She knows this marriage will give our country peace. Prosperity. Stability. Everything a queen should want for her people."
She then paused.
"But her heart belongs to someone else."
She didn't name him. She didn't need to. I already knew.
I also knew she didn't want me to know.
"She has feelings for a man who cannot stand beside her at the throne," she said. "A man who does not carry a title. A man who could never protect the kingdom the way a prince could."
I stayed silent, not wanting to rush into this.
"So tell me," she said. "As a mother… should I support her love for this man? Or should I act as a queen… and demand she puts the kingdom first? Even if it crushes her heart?"
I let the question hang for a moment, as I stepped slightly to the side, not closer, just shifting my weight. This conversation wasn't safe, It wasn't casual, and nothing close to a small talk either.
This was a queen asking me to help her decide her daughter's future.
And I wasn't Arthur. I wasn't someone raised in this world. I was a reader who could only guess how things were supposed to go
But she didn't know that.
So I chose my words carefully.
"I think…" I started, then stopped, as I swallowed. "I think a mother should want her daughter to be happy."
She didn't turn back to me, as she kept her eyes on the window.
"And what of a queen?"
"A queen," I said slowly, "has to think about her kingdom. But you aren't just a queen. You're her mother first."
Silence filled the room.
She closed her eyes.
"I have forgotten what love feels like, Arthur."
Her voice cracked a little.
Not much.
Just enough that I caught it.
"I share no warmth with the king," she said quietly. "We sleep in separate rooms. We speak only when duty demands it. We stand beside each other in public, but behind closed doors, we live as strangers."
Her breath came out tired.
"Is that love?" she asked.
I didn't answer.
She opened her eyes again, then slowly shifted her gaze back to me. This time, her stare held something different.
Something almost sad.
"I do not want my daughter to end like me."
Her fingers moved under the blanket, like she was gripping the sheets.
"Tell me again," she whispered. "Should love win?"
"Yes," I said. "It should."
She stared at me for a long time.
Then she lifted her hand slowly, just enough to show it above the blanket.
"Arthur," she murmured, her voice softer than before.
"Come closer."